“Get down from there,” Melchior said to Caspar in the tongue that only they shared.
“Things are bad enough!” To Quintilius he said, “I beg you, pardon this barbarian; he suffers from claustrophobia, he cannot bear to be shut in. But he is a good man and intends no harm.”
“He means no harm,” Quintilius translated, sardonically.
“No harm,” Caepio said, still leaning against the wall, ‘he’s well-nigh broken my back.”
Vatinius thought—If you’d made a thorough search in the first place .. . But his voice was kind and concerned when he spoke, reaching for a flask which stood, .with others, on the shelf under the maps, “This is good strong liniment. Get somebody to rub you, hard, as he would a horse. And tomorrow rest. I will undertake your duties.”
Moving like a cripple Caepio departed.
Balthazar had had time to think, to muster his forces, and when Vatinius said to him :
“You speak for this old man, I understand. Tell me, as briefly as possible, where you are bound and on what errand,” he said, smoothly, meekly.
“Sir, my master is an astrologer; he casts horoscopes and he has been asked to go to Bethlehem to predict a favourable day for a wedding.”
Melchior, anxious and trembling, had no idea of what story Balthazar was telling, but he saw with great relief that it was received with some amusement.
Astrology had enjoyed a brief and lucrative hey-day in Rome, but charlatans had exploited it and gradually it had fallen into disrepute; nowadays only slaves and the most ignorant, credulous people gave it any heed “An astrologer?” Vatinius said, looking at the old man. And suddenly he knew that whatever the man claimed to be he was, integrity was written all over him, just as servility was written over Balthazar “And who’s this hothead?” he nodded towards Caspar.
“Oh, he rides with us, sir, for protection against robbers.”
All three fitted the characters assigned. But Vatinius was nothing if not careful..
“Your master spoke of Herod the King. Why?”
“Because the King received us this afternoon and wishes my master to call upon him as he goes back through Jerusalem.” Sheer inspiration visited Balthazar; he knew that he was in a tricky position. Melchior wouldn’t be understanding any of this; if the one who could communicate with him asked a question and received an answer that didn’t match … “It is in order to get back to Jerusalem, to the King, that my master is in such haste.”
That sounded reasonable, too. But in Vatinius’ mind something jarred a little. Jews, so far as he knew, did not dabble in anything that savoured of necromancy or magic or fortunetelling.
“The family that plans the wedding,” he said, ‘of what nationality are they?”
“Greek, sir,” said Balthazar without hesitation. It was a safe thing to say; there were Greeks everywhere.
“I speak Greek, too; that is why he needs me.”
“And why did you arrive at the rear of this barracks?”
“We were taking a short cut, having been delayed in Jerusalem.”
To Vatinius it all sounded satisfactory enough; the old man was what one would imagine a professional astrologer looked like; the black man
was somewhat finely clad for a servant, butmany people took pride in their servants’ appearance, and a servant who spoke Greek and Latin was a valuable one; the third man looked like a guard—and a good one. He was about to say that it was all right, they could go, when Quintilius said softly:
“Very plausible. A little too plausible, don’t you think?”
“In what way? What do you suspect?”
“Everything and everybody, except you, Vatinius. May I take a hand here? You,” he addressed Melchior, ‘take your companions and go and stand by the door. Close to the wall.”
Balthazar, understanding, moved without prompting; Melchior spoke to Caspar who had been standing with his arms folded, hearing the talk as senseless gabble, but ready, at the first sign of danger, to take action. Here, he thought, as he moved without taking his eyes from the two men behind the table, it was exactly as it had been in Jexal, while he watched and waited. It was always the ones clad in silk, the ones with soft hands, who gave the orders. And that was not as it should be; that was bad.
Quintilius swung his feet to the floor and patted the place where they had been.
“Sit down; and listen to me.” He lowered his voice so that Vatinius had to bring his head very close in order to hear.
“It could be a trick. Herod is very wily. Practically every day deputations go to Rome complaining about him, and he may be planning a counter-attack. I suppose it never struck you that your nice little sinecure here is a frontier post. What lies between here and Egypt? You take my point? Three men, apparently harmless, come to the rear of a barracks, at night; they tell a garbled tale. If you wave them away by the front door, how does that look? How will it sound? Herod might very well complain that security measures were very slack; and that is something Caesar would take note of.”
“How does it sound if I hold them? They say they were with Herod earlier today.”
“I’ve no doubt they were. Cooking up his fairy-tale. Truly, Vatinius, the one sensible thing to do, the thing that would vindicate you however it was looked at, would be to send a fast rider to Herod, saying that three mystery men have arrived here and you are holding them until you have word from him as to the validity of their errand.”
Vatinius backed away, looking at his one-time friend in horror.
“You want to ruin me? I, a Roman, a soldier, take orders from Herod? Are you in this damned plot, too? The planted, independent, civilian witness?”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Quintilius said, a little wearily.
“I’m advising you. Send two men if you wish, one of the tribune.”
All at once Vatinius felt dizzy. What had seemed to be solid earth under his feet, the daily round of an obscure man in an obscure place, was so swamped with suspicion, trickery, uncertainty that it had turned into a quaking quagmire. It was quite possible, now, to imagine Quintilius reporting somewhere to somebody—I arrived, I was received without question, we drank together, and when a decision was called for he obeyed me like an ox. He is not fit to be in charge of a strategic post.
And to be honest, he had never until now, regarded his post as being of importance, except as all places where soldiers were stationed were important; places to be manned, kept in a sanitary condition, always alert. Only a very short time ago he had, in a moment of depression, thought that he was nothing but a caretaker; but when Quintilius had asked—What lies between here and Egypt? he had realised that he held and had held, unknowingly for three years, one point of a great empire’s frontier. Not that there was anything to fear from Egypt, that was part of the Empire; but to the South East there was the whole of Arabia. Well might somebody in authority think it worth while to test his alertness, his integrity.
He looked at Melchior and Melchior looked back at him with the urgent, dumb appeal of an animal, endeavouring to convey something, wordlessly. Whom can I trust? Vatinius asked himself; the old man with his look of integrity and other-worldliness; the black man with his facile tongue; my one-time friend?
Well, he thought, if I go down, I go down, making my own decisions; if
I’m to be ruined I’ll do it myself, by my owncalculated error.
He said to Balthazar:
“If your master is an astrologer he should carry the tools of his trade. Where are they?”
“On his camel, sir, if they have not been removed.”
“Go and fetch them. The man on duty at the door will show you the way.
Bring them.here, and be quick.”
Balthazar scuttled as all his life he had scuttled in obedience to orders.
Quintilius said in a detached way, “They’ll be in perfect order. Herod is no fool.”
That thought had not occurred to Vatinius, and hearing it expressed undermined his self-confidence still further, made him feel that he was a simple-minded fool, ill-equipped to deal with a world in which nobody could be trusted.
But he was equipped to maintain an unruffled demeanour in awkward situations, to remaining calm, seemingly confident, however he might feel. He said:
“I am in charge here, Quintilius. I’m ready to take responsibility for what I do.”
Balthazar, breathless and sweating, for all the night air was so cold, came hurrying back and laid on the table with the uncleared dishes and Caspar’s knife, the cane chart case, the compasses, the piece of lodestone, the tube with its end of glass, even the bit of sharpened chalk.